


Core Of My Addiction

by Bloodism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hair-pulling, M/M, light bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodism/pseuds/Bloodism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally discovering Castiel's hair-pulling!kink, Dean finds himself unable to resist teasing the little angel whenever occasion calls for it. It's all fun and games until Castiel takes things into his own hands...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Core Of My Addiction

It’s an accident.

When Castiel entwines his perfect hands into the lapels of Dean’s jacket and shoves him forcefully against the slimy wall of the alleyway, Dean’s breathless and his eyes screw up instinctively. He can’t look into those open, piercing blue eyes when they’re so close. Not when he knows he’s let him down – he’s let his friend down.

But his lip is throbbing, his cheekbone is hurting and he can’t let Cas get away with it. He is Dean fucking Winchester and he doesn’t take shit from anyone, especially not a nerdy, pissed angel. So he swings them around, hands scrambling over Cas, trying to find somewhere to grab. They find the bristly, mussed hair at the back of Cas’s head and that’s when Cas’s eyes widen a fraction.

Dean’s breathing heavily, fucking furious, but he doesn’t care – oh, now he’s got Cas. Cas, who could throw him off like a ragdoll but who is instead just standing, head tilted upwards and throat bobbing as he swallows. Dean’s eyes follow the movement and then he tightens the grip on the strands of hair, pulling tightly.

“I never asked you to give everything for me, Cas. That was your choice to make.”

His voice is tense, taut, high-strung and when Cas refuses to meet his gaze, he yanks at the hair, forcing Cas to look at him. When their gaze’s collide, Dean pulls back, just a fraction. It’s like a water balloon – the contained stress and rage disperses and he’s just standing in front of Cas, the haze of fury lifted from his eyes.

Because _fuck,_ that’s arousal. Cas’s pupils are dilated and he’s panting, pale lips parted and sucking in oxygen hungrily. Dean loosens his grip on the bristly hair and he can _see_ Cas’s shoulders almost slump in relief. Then he pushes the hand back in, tugging the hair back as roughly as he can without pulling the strands from the roots.

Cas’s eyes widen with confusion and lust, his chest hitching and his body pressing tight into the damp bricks behind him.

Dean releases a huff of laughter and shakes his head.

“You kinky son of a bitch.”

And then he releases him and moves back. Cas slumps forwards, those _fucking_ eyes never leaving Dean’s face. Dean turns and runs a hand over his face, wincing gently when the rough pad of his finger catches the mark on his lip. So, Cas was gay. That’s cool. He’d kind of suspected that.

But the hair pulling? _Fuck,_ that was something he could have gone without knowing.

“Dean—“

“Each to their own, Cas. Just zap our asses back home.”

And then he feels a light pressure on his shoulder. They’re back at Bobby’s.

-

He does it again.

He’d like to say it wasn’t intentional, but god damn, it was too tempting to ignore. Cas is sitting with them at a roadside café, expression distant. Dean’s mocking Sam for checking out their waitress and his gaze flickers to Cas for a second.

It sticks – there’s a patch of dried mud blended in with the short strands at the back of his head. Dean doesn’t realise he’s stopped mid-sentence and Sam’s giving him a funny look. Cas’s eyes are clouded over and he’s clearly not _with_ them. Not physically anyway.

Hell, ask him why he did and he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer. He loves pushing people’s buttons and the only button that’s there for him to press of Cas’s is his pretty obvious hair kink. So he straightens up and his fingers find the dirt, tugging and clawing at it.

Cas actually frickin’ _jumps_ in his seat and _oh, he’s definitely with them now._ His hand shoots up to grab Dean’s wrist almost painfully tight and his eyes, _oh Jesus,_ they’re bright and so damn wild.

“Dean.” He growls out warningly. Dean pulls his lips inside his mouth in an attempt to hold back his snigger, but it slips out.

“Hey man, you’ve got dirt in your hair.  I was just trying to help.”

Cas doesn’t buy it – he’s not human and he’s naïve, but he’s not stupid – and Dean knows this because those dilated pupils are disappearing between narrowed eyes. There’s a rustle and Cas is gone.

Dean’s grinning to himself when he notices the strange expression on his brothers face. Sam’s lips are lightly pursed and he’s got a tiny bundle of wrinkles between his eyebrows.

“What’s up with Cas?”

Dean clears his throat and tries to wipe the smile from his face. He shrugs casually.

“Probably just angel PMSing.”

-

Dean doesn’t realise when he does it a third time.

Sam, Dean and Cas are sitting in Bobby’s living room, flipping through books and relaxing. Sure, it’s the fucking apocalypse, but there’s no way Dean’s going to let that interrupt his ‘me’ time.

“Why would someone want to be plastic?”

Cas’s question makes everyone look up and Dean’s glad he’s not the only one who looks confused. When he sees the _heat_ magazine in the angel’s hands, he chokes on his beer. Sam smirks and looks back at his book. Bobby continues to stare in disbelief.

“Who gave the friggin’ angel a prissy magazine?”

“I’m sure he found it lying around,” Dean croaks in amusement, throat rough after a bout of coughing. He deflects the cushion that Bobby throws at him, but it catches his beer and it sploshes into his lap. “Women do it to get a bigger rack,” Dean starts to explain when neither Sam nor Bobby steps up to the challenge. He gets to his feet and swipes a hand through the air, trying to shake off some of the beer. As Dean heads towards the kitchen, he notices that Cas still looks _so_ mystified – mouth open, light frown, thoughtful gaze – so when Dean passes, he stretches out a hand to ruffle the angels hair, letting out a gentle breath of laughter.

It’s not until he returns from the kitchen, seconds later, with a dishcloth in his hand, that he realises Bobby, Sam and Cas all staring at him.  He blinks at them, feet rooting to the ground.

“What?” His gaze passes over Sam, then Bobby, then Cas. _Oh._

Castiel’s jaw is clenched and that wild, lustful gaze is pinned to Dean again. Dean’s hand twitches at his side – the hand that he had run through Cas’s hair – and his body kind of... _tingles._

“You’re getting a bit touchy feely with the angel, boy.” Bobby’s voice is gruff and amused and when Dean looks over to him and Sam, they’re both smiling. Their eyes are shining.

But that doesn’t matter because Cas is _still staring at him._

He clears his throat with a jerky cough, rubs a dry hand along the back of his neck and then heads back over to the sofa, forcing himself to slump onto it. He almost knocks his beer over in the process and fumbles to steady it, ignoring the flush that rises to his cheeks when he hears Sam snort on the other side of the room.

There’s a hurried flutter and a small rush of air. When Dean looks over to the source of the noise and wind, his stomach drops a little.

Cas is gone.

-

The next time he tries it, he’s genuinely intrigued.

Usually Hell or the apocalypse is the dominant thought in his mind, but Cas keeps slipping in. He wakes up some mornings, bright blue eyes hanging in the air in front of him. He blinks and the illusion is gone.

They’re in a motel room, Cas’s back straight and rigid against the back of the sofa they’re all sitting on. Sam’s on Dean’s left and Cas is on Dean’s right. Dean’s got both arms thrown along the ridge of the sofa and his legs are parted in front of him. Damn, it feels good to just _chill._

There’s a movie on – _Inception_ , Sam had said – and Dean is a little lost. He’s losing interest. But Cas seems dangerously focused on it.

Dean’s distracted gaze runs over Cas’s hair. It’s a little ruffled, blown away in the wind they had encountered earlier. It sends a shot of nostalgia through Dean when he remembers that it looked exactly the same the first time they had met.

He doesn’t register his movements. Not even when his fingers come into contact with the soft, smooth locks. He twists and pushes them, twirling the hair through them, completely oblivious to the hard gaze Cas has suddenly pinned on him.

An explosion rings out of the speakers on the television and Dean flinches, going rigid when he _finally fucking realises_ that he’s got his damn hand pushed into a man’s – _Cas’s_ – hair.

He doesn’t draw them back, though. He turns back to the movie, feigning interest in the world that’s bending and contorting. His fingertips caress and rove around the back of Cas’s neck, playing with the small wisps, before heading back up to the ridge of hair at the tip of Cas’s ear.

He spares Sam a glance, but he’s too busy focusing on the movie. His view is also obscured by Dean’s head – to him, it would look like he’s innocently resting arm against the back of the sofa.

Cas still hasn’t pushed him away. Every few seconds, Dean throws him a glance, eyes taking a moment to grow accustomed to the darkness of the room. Cas’s eyes are fiery and hot and _completely on him._ Dean lightly pulls at a clump of hair and Cas’s breath hitches.  Then he’s _closer, thighs pressed together, hand so close to Dean’s knee._

They stay like that for the rest of the movie.

-

It’s an accident.

They’re fighting a sword-wielding demon – _where the fuck did a demon get a samurai sword? –_ and it’s taking everything in Sam and Dean’s power not to have one of their limbs painfully sliced off. Cas is helping them but damn, this Asian has moves.

It happens fast.

The demon lunges for Cas and the sword’s blade looks like it’s got a first class ticket to Cas’s neck. So Dean stretches an arm out and grabs a handful of Cas’s hair, pulling him out of the way _just in time._ Sam’s behind the demon, and the knife plunges into its back. It erupts in a burst of light, but there’s not time for Dean to celebrate.

Cas is in front of him, eyes ablaze, and two hot fingers press into his forehead. They’re in the motel room.

“Cas—“

Dean is shoved backwards violently and _fuck_ that hurts. His head is thumping and his back is hot with pain, pressing against the wall he’s just been thrown into. He snaps his head down and settles a confused, furious glare on Cas, who’s stalking towards him with a dangerous intent.

“What the hell?!”

“You. You are insufferable. You know. You know, Dean. So why do you keep doing it?” Cas is inches away now, breathing scorching air into Dean’s face. Dean’s actually a little frightened and his eyes show it, wide and gleaming.

“What? What are you talking about? Are you frickin’ nuts?”

“This vessel. The feelings this vessel has. This… _whatever I’m feeling,_ it is uncomfortable and it’s infuriating,” Cas hisses into Dean’s face, hand coming up to fist into Dean’s collar. The back of his knuckles press into Dean’s chest and Dean’s struggling to breathe. “You are not helping the matter.”

Dean’s sifting through everything in his mind, trying to figure out what it is he’s done to anger Cas so much. When it hits him, his clenched eyes snap open. _Oh, fuck…_

“I… I don’t know, Cas. I don’t know why I—“ His voice catches and his alarmed gaze scours Cas’s face. His lip is bleeding, the dark blood trickling through the pale expanse of skin on Cas’s chin, and his eyes, damn it, those _fucking eyes._ They’re just as angry as they are frightened, just as confused as they are aroused. “You’re turned on, Cas. Horny as fuck.”

Castiel’s grip loosens on Dean’s collar and Dean sinks back into the wall a little. His expression hasn’t changed.

“I know the mechanics of humans, Dean. But if you know… if you know that it makes me feel so _hot_ and _out of control_ , why do you do it?” Cas’s voice is rough and crispy and it cuts through Dean in a thousand ways. Dean can’t… he can’t answer. He doesn’t want Cas. He’s straight – hell, not even Dr Sexy could turn him gay.

So why did he like this so much? This heat, this closeness, this completely _feral_ expression Cas’s face.

He’s looking at Cas’s lips again, watching the trickle of blood travel lower and lower and lower. He wants to catch it. Catch it before it drips off the edge of his chin, see what it taste like, what _Cas_ tastes like.

So he does. _Oh, he does._

He lunges forwards and presses his open mouth to Cas’s chin, sucking up the harsh taste of iron, eyes closed. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ Cas has stopped breathing, he’s completely solid in front of him. Dean pulls back, lips tainted red and Cas’s eyes dart down to them. Then his expression contorts and he looks totally _devastated._

They both meet halfway, bloody lips coming into contact with each other, nerve endings on fire, teeth pressed together. Cas’s hand slides out of Dean’s collar and runs its way up the side of Dean’s neck, cupping his cheek. His other comes up to join it, framing Dean’s face completely  and then he’s pushing forward, dominating, just _taking Dean._

Dean lets out a filthy moan and his tongue glides over Cas’s, smoothing out along the bottom of Cas’s mouth. The wall is hard against his spine and Cas’s thumbs dig into his cheekbones, tongue surging through his mouth and running along his cheeks, teeth, _God,_ everywhere.

Dean breaks apart for breath, cheeks flushed, eyes blown, the skin around his mouth stained with blood. Cas isn’t looking that much better, those perfect lips parted enough for Dean to see the moist tongue that had just been inside his own mouth. When Cas’s hands drop from his face, Dean’s finds Cas’s waist and with a quick tug, he pulls it towards his own.

Their clothed erections colliding makes Dean throw his head back against the wall, eyes clenched and mouth expelling a guttural cry. Cas lets out a gentle whimper and his head falls forwards, giving Dean a clear view of his mop of hair. A smirk spreads over Dean’s parted, breathless lips and his hand finds the back of Cas’s head.

He tugs _hard_ and then Cas is glaring at him, jaw clenched and gaze concrete.

“This… this is new,” Dean says hoarsely. He’s slowly beginning to freak out – _fuck, this is an angel, this is a guy, I’m horny, and when he’s staring at me like that, how am I supposed to focus on panicking?_

“Yes,” Cas replies, blue eyes darting quickly down to Dean’s lips before returning to Dean’s steady gaze. “I… don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with this.”

Dean lets out a breathless laugh and digs his fingertips gently into Cas’s scalp. The angel’s eyes flash.

“Just roll with it. We’ll deal with whatever the fuck this is later.”

Cas nods, lunges forwards, and then they’re kissing again, Cas’s hands pressing into the wall on both sides of Dean’s head and Dean’s hands fumbling with the belt of Cas’s trousers. God, it’s alien, it’s weird, but he wants it. He—

The sound Cas makes when Dean grabs his bare cock is utterly beautiful. He’s broken apart from Dean, too busy on trying to gasp in air to worry about kissing. Dean smirks and moves his hand in one smooth, gliding motion, sending Cas almost to his fucking _knees._ He can’t describe it. The sound. It’s like, a whine, a growl and a groan all wrapped into one. Plus a deep, resonant bass.

“Dean.” Cas is suddenly _there,_ tearing Dean’s t-shirt from his chest with a strength that is _not_ human. Dean watches the tatters get thrown to the floor and opens a mouth in protest. Instead of a ‘what the fuck’, he chokes on air. Cas has his lips round his nipple, sucking, teething, _fuck._

“Where the hell did you learn this?” Dean’s hand pushes and pulls at Cas’s hair, eyes screwing up in pleasure. He starts to move his hand again, pumping Cas’s cock, and the reply gets swallowed by _that perfect sound._

Dean stop his ministrations to completely untangle Cas’s belt, force him out of the trousers and boxers, push off the trenchcoat and unbutton the translucent white shirt. He can’t get it off, though. Not while Cas’s hands are still pressed into the wall, mouth still suckling on Dean’s other nipple.

Dean’s hard, and he’s aching and he wants it _now._ With a growl of frustration, he pushes Cas back and tears off his own trousers and boxers, allowing his erection to bob free. Cas is looking at him, distraught and debauched, expression open, overwhelmed, stunned.

This whole thing was probably hitting him so hard. _Makes two of us._

Something must have shown in Dean’s expression, because soon, he’s in Cas’s arms and _in the fucking air_. His back is pressed into the wallpaper, and he has to lock his legs around Cas’s waist to keep his balance. Their groins crash together and Dean’s sure he’s _never_ made a sound so fucking needy before.

“Cas, oh, fuck,” he gasps, looking down. Cas has his big, hot hands pressed into Dean’s thighs and his mouth is latched onto his neck, hips rolling gently and slowly and _Jesus, he needs to move faster._ He’s being propped up like a frickin’ girl, totally open, but he can’t bring himself not to care. Not when this is dangerously good.

Cas, thrusting against him, cocks grating together, spikes of pleasure dancing behind Dean’s eyes; Cas, _almost-naked Cas,_ moving fluidly, white shirt flapping around them like the wings Dean can’t see; and _that,_ that noise. That is what makes it so perfect. Cas’s little fucking _squeals_ of pleasure.

Dean’s clutching mindlessly into Cas’s hair when he increases his pace, and it’s building, building, building. He’s going to explode, he can feel it, deadly, deadly, _so fucking close._

“ _Cas,_ ” it’s barely audible, but it makes Cas lift his head. And it’s that expression, that face, that fucking _everything_ that makes Dean soar, coming _hard,_ fingers yanking at Cas’s hair. Cas follows him with Dean’s new favourite sound, splattering semen all over Deans chest.

When they both come back down, the first thing that pops into Dean’s mind is: _how is Cas still standing?_

They meet each other’s eyes and Cas actually looks a little _embarrassed._

“That was…”  He doesn’t finish. Dean uncurls his hand from the back of Cas’s head and runs it over his face, very aware that he’s still being propped up by an angel. He untangles himself and settles back onto his uneasy feet.

“Yeah,” he responds breathlessly. They stand in silence for a moment. Cas is waiting, Dean realises. This… whatever _this_ was, it’s changed them. He needed to know that everything was still okay.

Dean’s surprised to find that he’s okay with it. He’s okay with Cas, he’s okay with the man thing, maybe even okay with the gay thing and _fuck yes_ is he okay the mind-blowing sex.

“Shower?” Dean asks hoarsely and when Cas looks at him, he knows he can see Dean’s real meaning. With a gentle smile, Cas stretches forwards and entwines his hands with Dean. Dean looks down at their hands, more curious about the contact than worried about it being _prissy_. He looks back up to Cas and is a little mesmerised by the brightness that’s lingering there. Cas smiles.

“Yes.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was only my third time writing smut, so I hope it was okay. ._.


End file.
